Читать книгу The Black Widow - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 9

Rick could tell that his question had not surprised Jordan Price. She glowered at him with those cool blue-gray eyes, her expression an odd mixture of hurt and anger. But she stayed perfectly calm. Only the telltale clenching of her jaw and the hard glare revealed any emotion.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I did not kill my husband and that I cared deeply for him?”

“Cared deeply? Odd choice of words, Mrs. Price.”

“Honest choice of words,” she said. “I loved Dan, but not in some silly, youthfully passionate way. Our marriage worked for both of us. In our own fashion, we were quite content.”

“Another odd choice of words.”

“But once again an honest choice.”

“You’re not much for deep, passionate feelings, are you?”

She stared at him, a glimmer of something unsettling bubbling just below the surface, a hint of fury, a tinge of inner fire.

Don’t go there, Carson. Do not for one minute believe that she hasn’t used this feminine trick on other men. What she wants is for you to believe that you’re the one man on earth who could bring her dormant passion to life. Don’t be a fool. Don’t fall for her oh-so-smooth act.

He gave her a thorough once-over, not subtle in the way he appraised her physical assets. Yeah, so his manner was a bit on the crude side, not the least respectful. But in his book—the Rick Carson book of rules and regulations—a person had to earn his respect.

Jordan was willowy slender, but not skinny. Her hips rounded nicely and her breasts were large enough to fill a C-cup bra. He surmised her height and weight: five-four, a hundred and twenty pounds. Her creamy skin was like fine porcelain, unmarred by the sun or a tanning bed. She possessed an almost ethereal quality, like an angelic statue brought to life.

“You’re staring,” she told him, her voice slightly breathless.

Yes, he was. He was staring at a beautiful woman, but one he suspected was deadly. Was Jordan Price a black widow? Or was she what she appeared to be—sad, vulnerable, and in need of a strong shoulder to lean on?

Rick shook off the latter thought. He wasn’t here to give comfort. His job was to investigate a murder.

“Let’s say for the sake of argument that I believe you, that you didn’t kill your husband. Do you have any idea who did?”

She lifted her slender hand and smoothed back an errant strand of ash blonde hair. The thick mass was pulled loosely away from her face and secured with a silver clasp into a broad bun at the nape of her neck. Other than the ostentatious set of rings on her left ring finger, her jewelry was minimal, only a silver-and-gold watch and a pair of small, discreet diamond earrings.

Goddamn, why did she have to be so beautiful?

“I have no idea who killed Dan, if indeed he was murdered,” Jordan said. “He had political enemies, of course, but certainly none of them would have killed him.”

“What about personal enemies?” Rick tried his best not to skim his gaze over her body again, but his best wasn’t good enough. Sitting there in a pair of navy blue slacks and a white cotton sweater, she was hardly dressed for sex appeal, but he found her sexy as hell. When he returned his attention to her face, his gaze collided with hers.

“I don’t know of anyone who would want to kill Dan.”

He sensed that she might be withholding something. But why? Did she suspect Devon Markham and was protecting him because they were lovers?

“You do realize that if there was bad blood between your husband and another person, I’ll find out while I’m investigating. So, why don’t you save me some time and just tell me.”

She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. He noted the rise and fall of her breasts. Damn it, he had to stop lusting after Jordan. First and foremost, it was hardly professional to have the hots for your employer. And second and probably even more important, it would be stupid to become emotionally involved with a woman he suspected of murder.

“Dan and his ex-wife, Jane Anne, were not the best of friends, but I don’t think she’s capable of murder.” Jordan paused for a moment and glanced toward the closed door to her study. “My stepbrother, J.C., and Dan have had a few arguments. J.C. is a gambler and last year, he got himself into deep debt. Dan helped him, but when he went to Dan again this year, Dan turned him down.”

Rick nodded. “And that’s it. His ex-wife and your stepbrother?”

“As far as I know. Dan was highly respected and people in general liked him. He was a man with a good heart.”

She clenched her teeth and swallowed. If she was faking emotion, she was doing a really good job. Unable to stop himself, Rick reached out and clasped her hand. Their gazes met and God help him, it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms to comfort her.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then abruptly released her. “I’ll need office space of some type while I’m here.” That’s it, Carson, stick to Powell Agency business and steer clear of any monkey business. “Access to high-speed Internet, a fax machine, a copier and printer. Could that be arranged in whatever room you’ve—?”

“All of it is available in Dan’s study. He used that room as his home office. Feel free to arrange things any way you’d like. I’ll inform Tobias and Vadonna that the room will be yours to use while you’re here.”

“Are you sure you want me using your husband’s study? I mean, considering that’s where he died.”

Jordan clutched her hands together and moistened her lips with a quick, light lick.

Did she have any idea what kind of an effect she had on him? Sure she did. She was playing him and he’d damn well better not forget it.

“Yes, I’m sure you may use Dan’s study. I—I hadn’t been back in there until yesterday when I interrupted your private conversation with Ryan.”

“Everyone is a suspect until I rule them out, including you and Ryan. If you have a problem with that, I need to know now.”

She almost smiled. Her lips curved upward ever so slightly and he noted a faint trace of laughter in her eyes. “Please, call me Jordan. And may I call you Rick?”

He nodded. What sort of game was she playing? Please, call me Jordan. And may I call you Rick?

A soft rap on the half-open door interrupted them.

“Yes, come in, please,” Jordan said, as if she was expecting someone.

A plump, middle-aged woman entered the room, a silver tray in her hands. She set the tray on Jordan’s desk.

“Thank you, Vadonna,” Jordan said.

“Yes, ma’am. Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you, that will be all.”

While the woman exited, Jordan indicated the silver pot and accessories on the tray. “Would you care for coffee?”

Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Jordan focused on him. “You laid your cards on the table, Rick, and asked me point blank if I killed my husband. Now it’s my turn to be brutally honest. I don’t like you. I don’t want you here invading my home and my grief, taking away my privacy and questioning my integrity. But if my husband was murdered, I want his killer found and brought to justice. I want you to do your job. However, if you do anything to sully Dan Price’s reputation, I’ll see to it personally that you regret it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear. Any skeletons your husband had in his closet will remain there.”

She sighed heavily. “I expect to be kept up-to-date on the investigation. For now, a daily report will suffice.”

The lady was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. The privilege of wealth—her dead husband’s wealth. “Will every morning right after breakfast be suitable for my daily report or do you prefer for me to report right before bedtime?”

“Every morning works for me.” A cool, succinct reply.

When she stood, he stood.

“I’ll have Tobias show you to your room. If there’s anything you need, please let us know.” As she walked toward the door, he followed. “Dinner is at seven.”

She opened the door and ushered him out of her study, effectively dismissing him. “If you’ll wait in the foyer, I’ll find Tobias.”

He watched her as she walked away. She moved with a fluid grace that came as naturally to her as breathing. Jordan Price’s kind of class couldn’t be learned. It was innate.

If he didn’t watch his step, the lady would have him wrapped around her little finger in no time at all.

Rene washed hurriedly, removing the smell of sex from her body, then not bothering to dry off, she yanked on her thong and pulled up her slacks. As she hooked her bra, she noticed a bruise on her left breast. J.C. liked to bite, not forcefully enough to bring blood to the surface, but hard enough to bruise. While slipping on her blouse, she returned to the bedroom and found J.C., still naked, sprawled in the center of the bed, a rakish smile on his too-handsome face.

“What’s the hurry, babe? Sister won’t need you this after noon. She’s got that stud Powell agent to keep her company.” J.C. chuckled.

“Will you shut up! What a thing to say, to imply that Jordan would find Mr. Carson sexually appealing and poor Dan not cold in the ground.”

“Dead’s dead. Dan’s as dead now as he will be six months from now. Besides, you and I know that she wasn’t getting any from old Danny boy.”

“Hush! You say the most awful things. Have you no respect for your sister and Dan?”

“I respected my brother-in-law’s power and money. And I respect the hell out of Jordan, frigid bitch that she is.”

“Get up, take a shower and get dressed,” Rene told him, hating herself for having succumbed to J.C.’s immeasurable charm once again. The guy could be a real jerk, but he was dynamite in bed. At least she thought so. Maybe the fact that she was halfway in love with him colored her vision.

“The only reason you think Jordan is frigid is because she can so easily resist you.” Picking up a comb from the vanity, she raked it through her short black hair. “For God’s sake, she’s your sister and you still hit on her. You’re a real ass, you know that?”

J.C. slithered out of bed like the snake he was, and stood to his full five-eleven height. Lean, lightly muscled, his skin appearing darker than it actually was because of his sandy hair and pale blue eyes, the man was gorgeous.

As his gaze glided over her sensually, he moved toward her, then reached out and jerked her up against him. “She’s my stepsister. Technically, if I screwed her, it wouldn’t be incest.”

“You’re a worthless shit.”

He grinned, rubbed his semi-erect penis against her and grabbed her butt. “Yeah, but I’m your worthless shit, aren’t I?”

Rene pulled away from him. “I’m not fool enough to think you’re exclusively mine. Not when I know you’ll fuck just about anything with a pussy.”

J.C. laughed. “Honey, you know you’re my favorite pussy.”

Ignoring him as he turned and headed for the bathroom, Rene inspected herself in the mirror. She needed lipstick. Otherwise, she’d do.

She hadn’t seen Jordan since breakfast this morning and it was past time she checked in with her boss. It had taken her a while to adjust to working for Jordan instead of with her. They had met when they’d been in college, both working two jobs to pay their tuition. A few years after graduation, Jordan had called her out of the blue and offered her a position at the Atlanta PR firm where Jordan had just received a promotion. They had remained friends ever since and when Jordan married Senator Daniel Price and needed a personal assistant, she’d offered her the job. She had snapped it up posthaste.

Halfway along the upstairs hall and lost in her thoughts, Rene almost ran over Darlene Wright, who stepped aside just in time to prevent being hit head-on.

“Good afternoon.” Rene spoke to the old biddy simply out of courtesy.

Turning up her sharp, birdlike nose, Darlene gave Rene a condescending glance. “Have you seen Jordan?”

“Not since breakfast. Why?”

“I know she was expecting Mr. Carson, the Powell agent, and I wanted to make sure she’s all right and that his arrival didn’t upset her.”

“Why should his being here upset her? After all, she hired him, didn’t she?”

Darlene snorted. “I suspect that Ryan gave her little choice. If he had simply accepted the medical examiner’s findings, it would be unnecessary for Jordan to suffer more than she already has.”

“You’re right.” As much as she hated to agree with this snooty old bitch, she, too, didn’t want to see Jordan put through the wringer. “But all we can do is stand by and try to help her as much as we can. And pray that Dan wasn’t murdered.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t. After all, who would want to kill a lovely man like Dan?”

“He was a sweetie, wasn’t he?” Rene sighed. “Our poor Jordan. She has the damnedest luck with men.”

Darlene gasped. “What a terrible thing to say!”

“Oh, crap. You know I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just meant if anybody’s had enough tragedy for two lifetimes, it’s our Jordan.”

“If my Robby Joe had lived…” Her voice trailed off on a fragile, whispery moan.

Damn, she didn’t want to hear about Robby Joe being the love of Jordan’s life. Not again. Not today. If Darlene had spouted off that tale of woe once, she’d done it a million times.

“Look, if I see Jordan, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.” Rene eased around Darlene and headed straight for the back stairs.

“She’s not in her study,” Darlene called. “And she’s not in her room.”

“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

Two places not to look for Jordan: her bedroom and her study.

She’d search for her boss, and if she didn’t find her soon, she’d try calling Jordan on her cell phone. But she doubted that would do any good. Jordan’s phone was probably turned off to prevent taking unwanted calls.

After scouring the downstairs, even the kitchen and bathrooms, Rene stepped out the back door, pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pants pocket and lit the cigarette. She had all but given up smoking, but in dealing with Dan’s death, she had reverted to an old bad habit for solace. Drawing in deeply, she sighed with contentment as she paced back and forth on the porch.

Suddenly she heard soft weeping. The sound came from behind the hedges that screened the small back porch from the patio surrounding the pool. She took another draw on the cigarette, stepped off the porch and walked out into the yard. As she turned the corner of the tall hedge-row, she felt a prickle of apprehension and sensed she was being watched. After looking right and left, she glanced up, her gaze scanning the second-story windows. A dark shadow stood at one of the windows.

Rick Carson stared down, but not at her.

She followed his line of vision and gasped. Holy shit!

Rene made a beeline to where Devon stood on the patio, Jordan wrapped in his arms. When she approached, Jordan lifted her head from Devon’s chest.

“Is something wrong?” Jordan asked.

“You two are putting on quite a show for our resident detective,” Rene told them. “Don’t look now, but Rick Carson is watching you two from his bedroom window and God only knows what he’s thinking.”